I hate the drums discordant sound,
Parading round and round and round,
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace, and glittring arms
And, when Ambitions voice commands,
March, fight, and fall in foreign lands.
I hate that drums discordant sound,
Parading round and round and round,
To me it talks of ravagd plains
And burning towns, and ruind swains,
And mangled limbs, and dying groans,
And widows tears, and orphans moans,
And all that Misrys hand bestows
To swell the list of human woes.
Parading round and round and round,
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace, and glittring arms
And, when Ambitions voice commands,
March, fight, and fall in foreign lands.
I hate that drums discordant sound,
Parading round and round and round,
To me it talks of ravagd plains
And burning towns, and ruind swains,
And mangled limbs, and dying groans,
And widows tears, and orphans moans,
And all that Misrys hand bestows
To swell the list of human woes.
Contributed by The Lone Ranger - 2010/5/12 - 11:35
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Album “Burn the Witch”
Testo del poeta scozzese Robert Tannahill (1774-1810), trovato su The Balladeers
Robert Tannahill è stato un poeta e musicista contemporaneo di Robert Burns ma non altrettanto famoso, anche perché distrusse gran parte della sua produzione prima di suicidarsi, nel 1810. Probabilmente Tannahill era inadatto alla vita in una società come quella scozzese dell’epoca, tutta fondata su contrapposizioni violente (Stuart vs. Orange, cattolici contro protestanti,…) e con una cultura impregnata di militarismo, marzialità e culto degli eroi. Nel 1809 scrisse ad un suo amico integratosi nella milizia del Renfrewshire: “Non vedo la fine di questo sistema di guerra”… Forse proprio per questo non trovò di meglio che porre fine alla propria esistenza gettandosi nel Paisley Canal.